Page 20 of Just for the Cameras
“You know my rule,” I say. “They can spread the word, but I don’t want their money. It will feel…tainted, forced.”
“I understand. I would feel the same way, but it’s there if you need it.”
I shake my head. “It’s not there, because it’s not an option.”
Not to mention, it would feel really weird getting a donation from my ex-boyfriend even though he’s a good friend now.
“I just need…I need the freaking football man to cooperate and not make me feel like a high-water-wearing dork.”
“‘Freaking football man’ has a nice ring to it.” Everly always knows how to make me smile.
“That’s what he is. And you know what, did I make fun of him for the way he couldn’t fit his body in the golf cart? No. I held my tongue even though I had some serious thoughts about it. Because I have manners. Not him, he doesn’t have any manners. He’s just…he’s a jerk.”
“That’s right, you get it out,” Everly says.
“He’s a big jerk.”
“Enormous jerk. The jerkiest of all jerks.”
“Exactly.” I sip my milkshake. “And his…his fauxhawk is stupid. Just do a real one if you want it so bad.”
“Ooh, good burn. Maybe you can say that to him next time you see him.”
“Yeah, it would be a good comeback. I could say…” I hold my finger up to the air and stare at the ceiling as if I’m talking to him. “By the way…man…your fauxhawk is stupid, just, uh, just get a real one.”
“A little less shaky,” Everly says.
“I’m just pumped with adrenaline right now.”
“I can sense it.”
I pause for a moment, thinking about the man behind the shit day I had. Freaking high-waters.
Wincing, I look my friend in the eyes. “The pants were kind of high.”
She snorts, covering her nose.
“Maybe I should get new ones.”
“No.” She slams her hand on the table. “Absolutely not. You wear those high pants with pride. If anything, you hike them up so high that not only does he see your ankles, but he sees a camel toe too.”
I grimace at the thought. “Uh, no, thank you. That’s not necessary, but the ankle thing…”
“Yeah, and wear low socks so when he sees the smooth, pasty lumps of your ankles, he gets all flustered.”
“This isn’t the eighteen hundreds, Everly. Trust me when I say he has no desire to catch a glimpse of my ankles.”
“What? No way. I bet he took one look at you and those high-water pants and was like…‘I wish she were wearing low socks because—bites fist—fuck, I want to marvel at her ankles.’”
I shake my head with a chuckle. “He definitely didn’t think that.” I let out a sigh, depleted from the day. “Feels like high school all over again. He’s the hot jock, and I’m the nerdy girl in the corner, reading books about birds.”
Everly blinks. “Umm…hot jock?”
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t even get any sort of inkling of a romantic connection in that mind of yours. The only reason I said ‘hot jock’ is because I’d be lying if I said he was anything but hot. It’s a no-brainer.”
“Let me see.” Everly pulls out her phone and starts typing away on it. “I can’t remember what the freaking football man looks like. He can’t be that—oh my God.” She brings the phone closer to her face, clicks on a picture, then turns it to face me.
Graydon stands in a gym, wiping his face with a towel, wearing only a pair of navy blue shorts that ride high on his thighs. His chest glistens with sweat, the lights above him almost making it seem like glitter as droplet after droplet drips down each and every divot of muscle along his chest and stomach.
